Strained
by Miyazaki A2
Summary: A short Rip/Luke oneshot. Luke and Rip drive home from an especially stressful mission. Cue the tense conversation. For Bakemono Hana!


They were in his car, and the radio was on. It was just some babbling American pop-song, and neither one of them was giving the music much attention—it merely served as a reason not to have to talk.

Not to say that they didn't have anything to talk about—no, there were so _many _things to talk about, so many long, _deep_ conversations to be had, as well as a few arguments—but rather that neither of them had the _energy_ to open their mouths. They were coming home from a long mission, an abnormally involved assassination, and they were _exhausted._

Now, their enhanced bodies didn't normally allow for any type physical exhaustion, but this was different. They were tired _mentally. _This mission they'd been on had just been _straining._ There'd been so many intricate details to consider, so many people that they had been _forbidden _from killing. This whole thing would've been so much easier if Herr Major had just allowed them to create a bloodbath, but _noooo. _There had to be witnesses, _always_ witnesses, so they couldn't _all _die.

So here they were, on the five-hour drive from their hit-site to their hideout, and nothing but this crap-ass radio to keep them entertained. But it may have been for the best, because—if today's outing had been any implication—they would just start arguing if either one of their mouths had the audacity to open up.

Bloodbaths were always so much less stressful…

But, after about two and a half of the hours were up, she decided that _not _talking would just drive her insane, so she finally leaned forward to turn down the radio and spoke.

"Luke, cupcake, talk to me, please," she mumbled in her reedy German accent. "I can't listen to this silence anymore."

He sent her a sidelong glance, studying her omnipresent smile. He really didn't have to watch the road—this was a company car, he had the reflexes of a trillion cats combined, and they would most likely survive _any _collision, should one occur.

"What do you want me to say?" he asked as gentlemanly as he possibly could, considering how far away his mind felt.

"Anything," she replied, turning back towards the windshield.

"Be more specific, please, or I'll have to turn the radio back up."

She grimaced at the idea of having to be bombarded with that American crap again, though she supposed she could always change the station…but she didn't want to let it get that far. She smirked. "Say something romantic," she ordered, settling back against the car seat, waiting for the sweet nothings to blanket her like a sheet of roses.

But he just looked at her incredulously. "What, right now? While I'm covered in some other man's blood and _you're _covered with some other _man's _lipstick?" he snapped, tangibly feeling the gentleness slip away from him. Damn it, he loved her, but he wasn't in the mood for these games. This was his best coat, and _she _was his _only _girl! Both had been besmirched, and he didn't really feel like dignifying those facts with pretty words!

Rip rolled her eyes. Details, details. This really wasn't something to get upset about; this is how a lot of things worked out for them—_she'd _seduce the guy and _he'd _annihilate him. Heaven help them if _this time, _their target _happened_ to be a little too drunk and _much _too touchy-feely for either of their preferences.

"Please, Luke. I have a headache," she whined, trying her best to rub the dark red lip marks off of her wrists, knowing they offended Luke.

"Liar. Doc said that that was an impossibility," he shot back, looking over at Rip again, only to pause and cough.

She was staring at him with the biggest Bambi-eyes _possible_, letting her lower lip jut out a bit, trembling. He even saw some red bubbling up in the corner of her eyes. Tears. He couldn't tell if she was faking this pain or not, but he didn't like it either way.

"Pleeeeease," she cooed, sounding absolutely pathetic and absolutely nothing like her usually bubbly self.

His expression softened, as did his posture. He leaned back a little, looked back at the road, and smiled gently. "Fine, then. Something _romantic." _He searched his brain for a good forty-six seconds, mentally sifting through every page of every novel he'd ever read, looking for some kind of example to follow. Finally, he found something he thought might work, and he looked back at Rip Van, fondness making his emerald eyes glitter.

He took a deep breath. "How about this? Rip, when we're together, I feel like nothing could ever possibly go wrong. Nothing would make me happier than for this car ride to last an eternity, just so I could keep glancing over at you. I hated watching that _gentleman _touch you tonight, and it makes me very, _very _satisfied to know that it'll be _his _bloodstains that I'll be asking Jan to wash out of my jacket once I get home. I mean, for the love of God, I _adore _you, Rip," he concluded, looking away and turning the radio back up, effectively ending that bit of the conversation.

Rip gaped at him for a few moments for an utter lack of knowing how to respond to his confessions and how abruptly he'd cut them off…and then she sighed and frowned, which caught Luke off-guard. Usually, when things weren't exactly going too well or something set her off, she would just grin and start bursting out into her disturbing songs. Or shoot something with that warhead of hers. Either way, she wasn't one to mope, and she _definitely _didn't around _him._

"Oh, come now," he said in a soft, hopefully persuasive tone, forgetting the road again, "I played your game. You should be making fun of how sappy that little outburst of mine was." _It __**was **__sappy, right? I wasn't imagining that?_ he added silently to himself.

She furrowed her brow, suddenly looking more angry than sulky. How could he not see how snubbed she felt? She hadn't even gotten _her _turn to be romantic, and she'd had some nice ideas!

These types of missions never did either of them any good. Just put strains on their already confusing love-life.

She leaned forward to jerk the radio dial to a new channel, and the two vampires were suddenly barraged with nothing but white noise. Several channels fighting for dominance but lost in a pit of ambivalence, causing a loud war on the ears and mind of anyone who would be bold enough to try to interpret the noise.

Oddly enough, though, the disjointed, nonsensical sound appealed to the dark-haired Draculina—soothed her, even—so she gently snatched her companion's wrist when his gloved fingers reached out to change the station again. "Oh, leave it, Luke. It's not doing any harm."

Silently, she threaded her fingers through his, forcing him to drive one-handed. But he supposed he didn't mind. That hysterical, yet comfortable and familiar smile was back on her face, where it belonged.

She grinned maliciously and sang out a song about burning England to the ground, tapping her foot to the beat of the white noise, and squeezed his hand. And after a while, he joined in, having memorized every word of her murderous song, having heard it so often, even if it _was _in a language he barely knew. Their voices melded together to form a duet that would have been quite capable of—and probably succeeded in—making angels weep.

* * *

**_(A/N)_**

**Lol, sorry if you were waiting for Options. This was for Bakemono Hana, a great writer and big Hellsing fan. She more or less created this couple, or if not, brought it to life over at DeviantART! **

**I imagine these two to be a little dysfuntional at times, just out of respect to both of their often-less-than-sane personalities. Just saying. :)**

**Much love,  
Miyazaki A2.**


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